Of Follies and Vices
by kalonrain
Summary: In which a man of intolerable character and a woman of insufferable good humor clash in the most inconvenient of ways. [pride & prejudice, regency era]
1. Chapter 1

**So I'm very excited about this story, though I do have some bad news if you choose to read it. Since it is a regency fic, it'll take me a little longer with the chapters due to the language and the historical stuff and the clothing. But I do have a crystal clear picture of the plot, so that will speed things up hopefully.**

 **Some background I hope you will read but will most likely not:**

 **\- I cannot make John a doctor, it just wouldn't make sense for the time period, as far as I can tell.**

 **\- For the same reasons, Sherlock cannot be a detective.**

 **\- Molly's name is Margaret, and Molly is her pet name.**

 **I hope you like this as much as I do. It's the longest thing I've ever written, five pages!**

A man of lesser consequence with such peculiar interests might have found himself quite put out of society's good standing, but as Sherlock Holmes was not a man of such consequence, rather a man of ten thousand pounds a year, they found themselves quite willing to overlook this otherwise disconcerting slight.

Indeed, coming from a family of high respect and standing, the man in question had always had an ease in his childhood quite uncommon in this day and age. His every wish was attended to, and his parents were the doting kind of people who did not believe in a cold and unfriendly upbringing. As a child, he never wanted for anything, and indeed his life was not a very difficult one.

However, even with such a good an upbringing, Sherlock Holmes always had had a rare gravity around him. His housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, a woman utterly devoted to the boy she had raised since birth, had always thought him to serious for his own good. The good woman was often found remarking how the young master ought to smile more.

His good friend John Watson, in sharp contrast, was a man of remarkably good humour. Their friendship was an odd one, people often said, as they seemed to be men most different. However, they remain loyal to each other, and would not stand to hear a bad remark against the other.

And it was this companionship that to led to the two men atop their horses, overlooking a - in John's eyes, perfectly delightful; in Sherlock's, a modest if not somewhat distasteful - house. The white speckled horse tossed its head while they stood, but Sherlock's faithful pet stood stoic and stately, as if he too were observing the land.

"It's a fair prospect," John grinned with satisfaction, as if he were a man surveying the world itself, a world soon to be his.

Sherlock remained unimpressed. "Pretty enough, I grant you." Dark curls whipped in the wind, struggling to free themselves for the tall hat atop his head.

His companion laughed, well used to the mannerisms of his strange friend. "Oh, it's nothing to Pemberley, I know, but I must settle somewhere." His horse whinnied, hooves landing heavy and impatient on the ocean of green grass. John paused, preparing his inquiry. "Have I your approval?"

Sherlock's lips pursed together for a moment. His face was impassive. "You'll find the society somewhat savage," said he.

"Country manners?" John laughed, as if his friend had just made a joke, unable to fathom such a disagreeable possibility. "I think they're charming."

"Then you'd better take it," was his reply. Sherlock whipped his horse around in a quick, sharp circle, setting off on a trot with his back to the estate his friend was admiring.

…

"Janine, that's _mine!_ "

The shrill shriek was common in the Bennet household, but Margaret and Mary still find it difficult to remain unvexed when it disturbs the admittedly rare peace.

"Well, it's mine now." Janine giggles coyly, perching the struggled-over item over her curls, admiring her appearance. Turning back to her sister, she rolls her eyes and added with a childish attempt at condescension, "You'd never wear it anyway, you're much too plain."

Janine, the youngest, was a silly girl, one that takes much after her own mother, Mrs. Hooper. They were simple women, both content with pretty men and pretty things, but never content for long. Prone to fits of vexation and discontent, Mrs. Hooper fancied herself nervous, while Janine fancied herself young, or charmingly youthful. Janine thought herself a great beauty, as Mrs. Hooper, the foolish woman, often doted on her youngest.

Kitty, perhaps, had more sense, but even so, Janine had great influence on her. They were often found whispering together before bursting into girlish giggles.

Sally, the middle, was a solemn and strange girl, who often wished to say something clever but found she didn't know how. She found comfort in the solitude of her books and in her sonatas, but took very little pleasure in balls or dancing. Indeed, she was quite awkward in society, managing to interject at the wrong times and stay silent at the right.

Margaret and Mary, the two eldest, were the most sensible of the Hooper girls, and indeed, the handsomest. It was well agreed throughout the whole of Hertfordshire that Mary was a beauty unlike one ever seen, and that Margaret also was quite uncommonly pretty. Mrs. Hooper took great comfort in the beauty of her eldest, when she was fretting and sighing, while Mr. Hooper took pleasure in their minds, especially in that of Margaret. Margaret had always taken a special interest in books and learning, fostered in her by her dear papa, and they remained each other's favorites from birth to burial.

They were lively girls, utterly devoted to each other, who delighted in anything ridiculous, plentiful in the frettings of Mrs. Hooper and the giggles of Janine and Kitty. They had an ease in their words that was declared quite charming and very agreeable by those who they encountered.

While Mrs. Hooper's mind was easily known - easily amused with gossip and frivolities, Mr. Hooper seemed a man of uncommon humour. Indeed, he was a man who took great pleasure in vexing his wife, not a very hard task in his household. He was all sarcasm and wit, a trait most shown in his two eldest - his only comforts when listening to the going-ons of his wife, Kitty, and Janine.

Now for all of Mr. Hooper's wit, he was a man of poor fortune, and much to the distress of his wife, should he die, as she was sure he would in the very near future, the estate and the money would go not to his loving daughters nor wife, but to his odious cousin. The weight bore deeply on their minds, released in worry by Mr. Hooper, and fretting by the Mrs.

"Oh, Kitty, let her have it!" said the woman at present. She fanned herself in distress. "Would you tear my nerves to shreds?"

"But it's _mine!"_ Kitty wailed. "You always let her have _everything_ that is mine!" She burst from the room, sobbing childishly, attracting the attention of Margaret and Mary as they returned from their walk.

Grinning with triumph, Janine examined herself in the bonnet once more, before deciding that she didn't much fancy it, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and falling into the chair herself, crushing it in the process.

"Oh, my nerves," Mrs. Hooper sighed once more in her self-pity. Calling shrilly, "Mary! Margaret! Where are you?"

"Coming, Mama!" was their reply. Delicately unlacing the satin light blue bows under their chins, they hurried to the drawing room in time to hear their mother say, her attention easily diverted -

"My dear Mr. Hooper," with the air of a woman who thought herself very important, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"

Her husband replied that he had not.

"But it is!" the silly woman trilled, delighting in sharing unknown information. "For Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it."

He made no reply.

"Do not you want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.

Not glancing from his book, Mr. Hooper replied, " _You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."

And indeed, that was invitation enough.

Eagerly, and with no mind for the disinterest apparent in his voice, she began. "Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Brook immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week." All this said she with hardly a breath in between.

Mr. Hooper, with practiced caution as to not provoke longer speeches, asked, "What is his name?"

"Watson," said she.

"Is he married or single?"

His wife smiled, the question she had anticipated asked, and the answer she wanted on her tongue. "Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

Mr. Hooper knew very well what she meant, but found it in himself to ask, "How so? How can it affect them?"

"My dear Mr. Hooper," the silly woman cried. "How can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

Indeed he had. "Is that his design in settling here?"

His wife was shocked. "Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so!" The woman leaned forward, enjoying herself immensely. "But it is very likely that he _may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes."

Still he did not look up. "I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Watson might like you the best of the party."

The silly woman blushed, easily charmed by her husband's undetected teasing. "Oh, my dear, how you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."

Mrs. Hooper continued, "But consider your daughters. Only _think_ what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir Stamford and Lady Adney are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general you know they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit him if you do not."

Turning a page idly, "You are over scrupulous surely. I dare say Mr. Watson will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls; though -," throwing a fond smile his admittedly favorite daughter's way, "- I must throw in a good world for my Molly."

His lady was aghast, holding no such smiles. "You will do no such thing! Molly is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Mary, nor half as good humoured as Janine. But you are always giving _her_ the preference."

"They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he. "They are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Molly has something more of quickness than her sisters."

Mrs. Hooper was thrown into a fit, just as her husband had intended. "Mr. Hooper, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves."

"You mistake me, my dear. I have high respect for your nerves." At last he closes his book, and stands with a leisurely smile. "They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least."

She turned her face away with foolish anguish. "Oh! You do not know what I suffer."

He could not resist one last jab. "But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighborhood."

The lady waves her handkerchief hopelessly. "It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come since you will not see them."

Strolling quickly to the door, but not before stooping to press a soothing kiss on Margaret's smiling cheek, he says, "Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all."


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm so excited about this story, I really like writing it. This chapter isn't quite a long as the first, but I wanted the iconic ball scene to be its own chapter - and oh my goodness, I am looking forward to it.**

 **List of Characters (if you need it):**

 _Molly Hooper - Elizabeth Bennet_

 _Sherlock Holmes - Mr. Darcy_

 _Mary Morstan/Hooper - Jane Bennet_

 _John Watson - Mr. Bingley_

 _Mr. and Mrs. Hooper - Mr. and Mrs. Bennet_

 _Sir Stamford and Lady Adney - Sir William and Lady Lucas_

 _Janine Hooper - Lydia Bennet_

 _Kitty Riley/Hooper - Kitty Bennet_

 _Sally Donavan/Hooper - Mary Bennet_

 **Enjoy!**

Mary and Molly took comfort in their rooms and in each other that same night. Sharing a chamber was a necessity, and by no means uncomfortable when two very close sisters have no complaint against the other - something that could not be said for the other Hooper girls.

Watching her sister pull careful strokes through her golden hair, Molly sighed, "If I could love a man who would love me enough to take me for a mere fifty pounds a year, I should be very well pleased."

Mary hummed her agreement, not pausing with her movements.

Adopting a teasing tone, Molly continued, "But such a man could hardly be sensible, and you know I could never love a man who was out of his wits."

Her sister pauses, laughing quietly. Mary remarks, "A marriage where either partner cannot love or respect the other - surely that cannot be agreeable, to either partner."

"As we have daily proof." Shifting softly, she continues lightly, "But beggars cannot be choosers."

With the slightest bit of disapproval, Mary turns to Margaret. "We are not _very_ poor, Molly."

She replies, "With father's estate entailed away from the female line, we have little but our charms to recommend us. One of us at _least_ will have to marry very well." A smile tugs at her lips, "And since _you_ are five times as pretty as the rest of us, and with the sweetest disposition, I fear the task will fall on you to raise our fortunes."

Merrily, Mary laughs, "But shall I marry for love?"

With a gentle sigh, Molly says, "And so you shall." She pauses, teasing her sister, "Only take care you fall in love with a man of good fortune."

Mary stands from her dressing table, coming to sit on the bed next to Margaret. "And you?"

"Me?" Molly smiles, perhaps a bit sadly. "I am determined that nothing but the very deepest love will induce me into matrimony. So, I shall end an old maid, and teach your ten children to embroider cushions, and play their instruments _very_ ill."

…

Mr. Hooper assured his wife to the last that he would not visit Mr. Watson, to the shrieking and moanings of the woman. As it were, however, he was among the earliest to wait on the famed Mr. Watson, as he had always intended, while insuring that his wife had no knowledge of it. And indeed, she would not, until the following occurrence:

Margaret sat quietly in the sitting room, stitching blue ribbon onto her hat.

Mr. Hooper, observing her, said quite suddenly, "I hope Mr. Watson will like it, Molly."

Just as he had intended, his wife fell into her familiar complaints. Resentfully, "We are not in any way to know _what_ Mr. Watson likes. Since _you_ will not visit."

Not eager to hear the same tirade, Margaret tries, "But you forget, Mama, that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him."

"Oh!" Her mother cried, "I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have opinion of her."

"No more have I," said Mr. Hooper. "And I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you."

Mrs. Hooper deigned not to make any reply, but unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.

"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves - you tear them to pieces."

"Kitty," Mr. Hooper remarks, "has no discretion in her coughs. She times them ill."

"I do not cough for my own amusement," Kitty frets.

"When is your next ball to be, Molly?"

"Tomorrow fortnight."

"Oh, so it is," cries her mother, "and Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before - so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself."

At last the moment had come. "Then, my dear," Mr. Hooper began, "you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Watson to _her_."

The torment of the situation was unbearable for Mrs. Hooper. "Impossible, Mr. Hooper, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself - how could you be so unfeeling?"

"I admire your caution. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if _we_ do not venture, someone else will, and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself."

The girls stared at their father, a reaction he quite enjoyed. His wife could say only, "Nonsense, nonsense!"

He pounced. "What can be the meaning of that exclamation?" cried he. "Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you, Sally? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know."

Sally then wished to say something very thoughtful, but knew not how.

Mr. Hooper continued, "While Sally is adjusting her ideas, let us return to Mr. Watson."

A fit of discontent, and his wife cried, "I am sick of Mr. Watson."

Mr. Hooper was well pleased with the reactions, for he took great pleasure in confounding his family. "I am sorry to hear _that_ , but why did you not tell me so before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky then; but as I have already paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now."

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs. Hooper perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.

"How _good_ it was of you, my dear Mr. Hooper! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved you girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a good joke too, that you should have this morning, and never said a word about it till now."

"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you chose." Mr. Hooper left the room, rather fatigued with the raptures of his wife.

As the door closed, his wife sighed contentedly. "What an excellent father you have, girls," said she. "I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so pleasant I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes , we would do anything. Janine, my love," she suddenly cooed, turning to her favorite daughter, "though you _are_ the youngest, I daresay Mr. Watson will dance with you at the next ball."

"Oh!" Janine said, with the air of a girl of great importance. "I am not afraid; for though I _am_ the youngest, I'm the tallest."

Margaret and Mary watched this all pass with amused eyes.

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. Hooper's visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

…

Not all that Mrs. Hooper, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr. Watson. They attacked him in various ways; with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbor Lady Adney. Her report was highly favorable. Sir Stamford had been delighted with him, but he is a man easily pleased and determined to be happy with all around him. He was young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and to crown the whole he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Watson's heart were entertained.

"If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield," said Mrs. Hooper to her husband, "and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for."

In a few days Mr. Watson returned Mr. Hooper's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of discerning from a view from an upper window, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards sent; and already had Mrs. Hooper planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which dashed the hopes of all. Mr. Watson was obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently was unable to accept the honor of their invitation. Mrs. Hooper was quite upset. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never be settled at Netherfield as he ought to be.

Lady Adney quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Watson was to bring _twelve_ ladies and _seven_ gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies; but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin.

And indeed, with uncommon excitement, the whole of Hertfordshire looked forward to the night of the ball, eager to catch a glimpse of the elusive Mr. Watson and his company.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, Six Thatchers killed me.**

 **On a different note, my town is getting its first snow today!**

A Mr. Watson steps out of his carriage, smiling contentedly - followed by a Mr. Wiggins and his wife, much to the excitement of the young girls in the window.

The music was lively in the room of Adney Lodge, and all people in high spirits, and the air fairly buzzed with the suspense of the soon-to-be newcomers.

There was much anticipation for the twelve ladies and seven gentlemen he was rumored to bring, but upon their entrance to the ballroom, the young ladies of Hertfordshire were pleased to see only _two_ ladies - the sisters of Mr. Watson; a Miss Irene Watson and Mrs. Sarah Wiggins - while the mothers were heartbroken to see only one additional young man in his company. It can be said that the fathers were quite indifferent.

Mr. Watson was good looking and gentlemanlike, with blonde hair; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Wiggins, merely looked a rough sort of gentleman; but it was his friend who soon drew the attention of the room.

Mrs. Sarah Wiggins was nothing to talk about, but the young Miss Irene - properly Miss _Watson_ \- was a great beauty - and she knew it well. A dark haired woman, her true character was a complicated one, but she was a woman of many interests. And at the moment, her object of interest was her brother's companion.

It was with no displeased eye that the population of the room looked upon this dark haired stranger, and poor Mr. Watson was quite forgotten. His friend was observed and admired by his fine, tall person and form, noble standing, and handsome features; the gentlemen pronounced him a fine figure of man, the ladies declared him much handsomer than Mr. Watson.

It was then that the rumors began - according to Mrs. Smallwood, the man is of an income exceeding _ten thousand pounds_ a year, a figure quite unheard of in the whole of Hertfordshire. He was _quite_ unattached also, no young lady having caught his eye either. Apparently, he was the son of a wealthy lady - Lady Anne Darcy, _née_ Fitzwilliam - with the name of Sherlock Holmes, and a large estate in Derbyshire.

He was looked at with great admiration for half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud - _he snubbed poor Eliza, the dear_ \- above his company, and above being pleased. Not all his estate in Derbyshire or his large income could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being quite unworthy to be compared with his companion.

Mr. Watson had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room with easy manners; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield.

Mr. Holmes danced only once with Mrs. Wiggins and once with Miss Watson, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, only speaking occasionally to one of his own party. It was there that his character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped he would never come there again.

Molly crossed the room quickly, carefully stepping around the dresses of lively women to join her friend and Mary in the corner. "Only two ladies then, after all," she laughed softly.

Mary smiles merrily back. " _Very_ elegant. Better pleased with themselves than what they see, I should think."

The company turned their eyes upon the women, who indeed looked quite in disdain with their surroundings, as if it were all beneath them.

From across the room, their mother gestured wildly. "Molly! Mary! Come here!" she hissed.

Smiling apologetically at Meena Adney, they left to join their mother.

"Girls, this is your moment." She fussed over their dresses. "Lord, they're coming over!"

Sir Stamford was indeed leading the two gentlemen over to their little party. A very affable man, he bowed low before speaking. "Mrs. Hooper, Mr. Watson has expressed a wish to become acquainted with you and your daughter."

The silly women was well pleased. "Sir, that is very good of you." Mrs. Hooper began her introductions. "This is Mary, my eldest." Mary curtsied, blushing uncharacteristically under the eyes of Mr. Watson. "And Molly, and Sally sits over there." Molly curtsied, smiling politely. Her mother gestures at two young girls dancing merrily. "And Kitty and Janine, my youngest, you see there dancing." She paused, "Do you like to dance yourself?"

Mr. Watson fairly beamed, speaking directly to Mary. "There is nothing I love better, Madam. And if Miss Hooper is not otherwise engaged, may I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?"

Mary smiles prettily at the compliment, accepting with, "I am not engaged, sir." Molly quirks an amused eyebrow at her sister, unused to this strange behavior.

Mr. Holmes was standing behind his friend, with Mrs. Hooper pointedly ignoring him. Blushing slightly at the rudeness, Molly nudges her mother gently, prompting a reluctant, "And you, Mr. Holmes? Are you fond of dancing too?"

Mr. Watson starts, realizing his mistake. He remarks, "Oh, I beg your pardon. Mrs. Hooper, may I present my friend, Mr. Holmes?"

He bows stiffly, while the women curtsy back. Of course, they knew very well who he was, and had quite decidedly formed an opinion of him, but Mrs. Hooper was determined to be civil, as the stranger had made no personal offence towards her.

She begins, shrilly, "You are very welcome to Hertfordshire, I am sure, sir." Relishing her next words, for she knew the answer very well, "And I hope you have come here eager to dance, as your friend have."

The conversation was stifling, for for all her years, Mrs. Hooper was not a subtle woman, and her attempts to undermine and slight Mr. Holmes were quite noticeable. Molly felt her face grow hot, and she averted her eyes.

The man in question looked quite displeased at having been addressed - perhaps he believe the woman was far beneath him, and in all social standings, she was - but still he replied, "Thank you, Madam." His unusual eyes land on Molly. "But I rarely dance."

Mrs. Hooper smiled, sure she had won some battle over the arrogant man, and so she continues. "Well, let this be one of the occasions, sir. For I wager you'll not easily find such lively music, or such pretty partners." The silly woman indicated slightly to Molly, for her narrow mind would not forget the ten thousand pound income very easily, which Mr. Holmes noticed quite obviously.

Swiftly, without a word in answer, the man bowed, and walked determinedly away.

Poor Margaret, well aware she had been slighted, felt the sting, but still kept her eyes on the man's retreating back, following him as he fled.

Mr. Watson's lips came together tightly. Quite familiar with his best friend's strange mannerisms, he made his excuses - " _Pray, excuse me, ma'am"_ \- bowed neatly, and followed hastily after.

Once he had left, Mrs. Hooper gave a self-satisfied hmph, as if they had confirmed her suspicions, before uttering contemptuously, "Well! Did you ever meet such a proud, disagreeable man? Mrs. Sawyer was _quite_ correct."

Molly closes her eyes wearily, before speaking lowly, "Mama, he will hear you."

The silly woman looked offended. "So what if he does!" she shrilled, "And his friend disposed to be so agreeable, and everything charming. Who is he to think himself so far above his company?"

Margaret doesn't stay low very long. Taking after her father, teasing her mother is a great comfort to her. "Well," she starts sensibly, "the very rich can afford to give offence wherever they go." She exchanges amused glances with her sister. "We need not care for his good opinion."

His mother nods in agreement, enthusiastically. "No, in _deed_!"

After some time, Mr. Watson comes back to claim his dances with Mary, much to the pleasure of Mrs. Hooper and, Molly thinks - to Mary. She accepts his hand gratefully, and he escorts her to the middle of the floor. Mrs. Hooper wanders away to the matrons eager to hear her stories of the dreadful Mr. Holmes, and, for scarcity of partners, Molly finds herself obliged to sit on the side next to Sally.

Scarcity of partners, but Mr. Holmes did not deign to dance with the waiting ladies, and after poor Eliza, none would ask.

As they dance, John aims a smile at his silent friend, and Sherlock smirks in amusement back. Casting a quick glance with disinterested eyes around the room, he catches sight of Mrs. Hooper pointing him out quite obviously while mouthing to her friends _awful, awful man_ \- and he frowns, taking a sip of his drink.

The song ends, and Mr. Watson escorts his partner to his sisters. They smile, a little coldly, but are perfectly civil to Mary.

From her seat Molly observes all of this, with a pretty smile on her face. A brown strand of hair curls out of her bun, resting against her neck, and impatiently she brushes it back. Turning her head for a moment, she jerks it back upon catching the glance of the proud Mr. Holmes, who was standing regally near the fireplace. His hand rests on the mantel possessively. Molly shifts uncomfortably, feeling the heat of his odd eyes still on her, and makes some comment about something-or-the-other to Sally.

Mr. Watson leaves his sisters with a quick smile, heading towards Mr. Holmes with a frown on his face. Upon his approach, the man fixed his good-humored friend with such a severe look that Molly was sure he would leave. He did not.

"Come, Holmes," said he, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this manner. You had much better dance."

His companion's mood darkened. "I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insufferable." He glances at the dancers, distaste written plainly across his aristocratic features. "Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room with whom it would not be a punishment for me to stand up with."

John rolled his eyes. "I would not be as fastidious as you, Holmes," he said, "for a kingdom. I have never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," admitted Mr. Holmes reluctantly, looking at the eldest Miss Hooper. For all his disagreeableness, he could not deny the fine features of Mary. Molly smiled, listening carefully.

John pulled his shoulders back proudly, smiling to himself. "She is quite pretty, I daresay." He looks back at Sherlock, annoyed - and suddenly catches sight of Margaret. "But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very handsome, and very agreeable. Do go ask her for a dance."

"What do you mean?" and turning round, he looked for a moment at Molly, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, "She is tolerable, I suppose; but not handsome enough to tempt _me_. John, I am in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Irritated, but familiar with his companion's oddities, John followed his advice. Molly was a forgiving girl by nature, but having her pride so obviously wounded was almost too much to bear. She sat for a moment, her cheeks burning with humiliation - but, determined to be cheerful, and see the humor in such an awful situation, she rose deliberately, brushing past Mr. Holmes, to join Meena.

His eyes followed her, he nearly flushed, and an unsettled feeling of guilt rest in his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**I haven't updated this in forever - my profuse and gushing apologies. But here it is! After rewatching the 1995 version (I won't watch any other - Colin Firth is to _die_ for) multiple times and a few clips of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.**

 **Let me know what you think - I love reviews!**

Mrs. Hooper entered the room, intrusive with her overbearing air of delight. She breezed through the door, and caught sight of her unfortunate husband - having declined the opportunity of going to the party in favor of his book and who, in fact, was rather eager to hear his wife's retelling of the evening, rather hoping she had found herself disappointed by the charming Mr. Watson, but found _himself_ the one to be disappointed.

"Oh! My dear Mr. Hooper" - throwing her hands up excitedly - "an excellent ball, an _excellent_ ball! Mary was so admired, nothing could be like it. _Every_ body said how well she looked; and Mr. Watson" - her husband had leaned in rather eagerly at that point, book falling forgotten on his lap - "thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice; and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a _second_ time. Only think of that! Of course first of all, he asked Miss Adney. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her; but, indeed, he did not admire her at all - and he seemed quite struck with Mary as she was coming down the line. Mr. Watson inquired who she was, got introduced, and asked her for the two next." At this point, Mr. Hooper felt rather fatigued by her chatterings, but his oblivious wife neither noticed nor cared. "Then, the two third he danced with Miss Riley, and the two fourth with Miss Brook, and the two fifth with Mary again, and the two sixth with Molly, and the _Belgravia_ \- "

"If he had any compassion for _me_ ," cried her husband impatiently at last, "he would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say no _more_ of his partners. Oh, had he sprained his ankle in the first dance!"

Still the blind Mrs. Hooper persevered, taking an eager seat beside him and clasping his hands in hers, and she continued, "Oh, my dear. I am _quite_ delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters - they are charming women. I never in my _life_ saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I daresay the lace on Mrs. Wiggin's gown - "

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Hooper protested any description of finery. After much disagreement and squabble, the woman conceded, and was forced to seek another branch of discussion. She related instead - with much bitterness of spirit, and perhaps some exaggeration - the rudeness of Mr. Holmes.

"But the man he brought with him," the foolish woman began, her face contorting with attempted scorn, "Mr. _Holmes_ as he calls himself, is not worth our concern - though he may be the richest man in Derbyshire." Mrs. Hooper resettles herself in the armchair, sitting primly at the edge and waving her handkerchief in what Molly is _sure_ she thinks is in a distinguished air. "The _proudest,_ the most _horrid,_ disobliging - she slighted our poor Molly, you know!" At this, she waves an accusing hand at Margaret, and the girl cringes - visible only to her sympathetic father. "Flatly re _fused_ to stand up with her."

Mr. Hooper's book is fully closed now at his renewed interest, and he eyes his favorite daughter - clear to the perceptive Mary, unfathomable to foolish Mrs. Hooper, Kitty, Sally, and especially Janine - thoughtfully. "Slighted my Molly, did he?" he asks, addressing his question mostly at her with a half-raised eyebrow. Molly gives a mock-martyred smile back at him, and the man does his best to cover a snort.

Margaret reassures him, hands resting unperturbed in her lap. "I don't care for him either, father, so it is of little matter."

At this her father opens his mouth - no doubt for a witty and sharp reply on the failings of such a man - but her mother butts in, unwilling to be out of a conversation for so long. "Another time, Molly, I would not dance with him if he _should_ ask you."

Molly smiles back, easily promising, "I believe, ma'am, I may safely say to you never to dance with Mr. Holmes."

…

The more elegant party is residing in the much larger and ornate drawing room, the exquisite paintings and frivolous finery unnoticed by the occupants. On the far end of the room, Mr. Wiggins occupies his very own furniture, doing his best to sleep off the obscene amount of alcohol he had drunk during the ball. The party steadily ignores him. Miss Adler, sitting besides Miss Wiggins on the settee, kept her careful dark eyes on Mr. Holmes - currently standing with an arm on the fireplace mantel.

Miss Adler is still in her ball dress, dark hair swept up with only a few alluring strands lying against her neck. Her dark green silk skirts are arranged artfully on the carpets and chaise lounge, as to better present herself. She calculates the pensive man's mood - watching him stay silent and irresistibly brooding is a method one can employ for only so long - before asking archly, "And so, none of the Hertfordshire ladies could please you, Mr. Holmes?"

Miss Wiggins simpers, doing her best to appear clever alongside her much prettier friend. "Not even the famous Miss Hooper?" The two ladies laugh together at their wit and cleverness, before reclining contentedly back, to better hear the reply of the elusive man.

Before it could come to pass, Mr. Watson could not stay silent. He puts in his own say indignantly, "Well, I never met such pleasanter people - nor prettier girls in my life." He is still in his formal wear, seated on a furniture located opposite his sister.

Sherlock turns agitatedly from the mantel, pacing only a few steps swiftly. The white cravat is still tied neatly against his aristocratic neck, a shocking contrast to the dark coat serving only to enhance his image - Sherlock tugs at it restlessly. His turned head gives view to his arrogant and fine features, a welcome display from the seated Irene Adler. He reprimands his friend dismissively and without a glance his way - as is habit - saying, "Watson, you astonish me. I saw little beauty, and no breeding at all."

The women laugh - far too obligingly for such a sour comment - and Sherlock watches them, his features twisting into a slight grimace. He continues, "The eldest Miss Hooper is, I grant you, very pretty."

John rolls his eyes, congratulating his friend sardonically, "A fine concession - come, man, admit it, she is a delight."

Sherlock pauses, turning back to the mantel and staring steadily into the licking flames. He says simply, "She laughs too much."

Miss Adler joins the conversation, putting in in her best charitable voice, "Oh, Mary Hooper is a fine girl." A theatrical shudder runs through her slender body, and she lowers her tone and widens her eyes in mock-horror. "But the _mother!_ "

John sits back helplessly, unable to argue - his features twist into a grimace as he concedes: the woman really was unbearable.

A collective hum of tutting disapproval is heard through the room, and Irene leans back - satisfied. "I heard Margaret Hooper described as a famous local beauty." She addresses the impassive man. "What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?"

His back is still turned to her audience, one hand leaning heavily against the mantel as he replies flatly, "I shall as soon call her mother a wit."

 _Cackle_ would perhaps would be far too uncharitable a word to describe it as, but if not so Miss Adler and Miss Wiggins do their very best to achieve one. Their sounds of scornful delight are unpleasant in the frequently and often annoyed ears of Sherlock Holmes - a sentiment Mr. Wiggins must agree with, for even the alcohol-muddled man lurches from his laying position with a shout and grunt. Mercifully, it startles the ladies enough to put an end to the unbearable merriment.

Instead, Irene chooses to scold him as though scandalized, her body making it _very_ clear just how _un_ wicked she found his comment. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, that is too cruel."

John does the opposite - leans back against the silk covering, rubbing a weary hand across his tired forehead. He addresses his friend with the perfected accusatory tone, "Holmes, I will never understand why you go through the world determined to be displeased with everything and everyone in it."

Sherlock is unmoved to this charge, replying unaffectedly, "And I will never understand why you are in such a rage to approve of everything and everyone that you meet." His face is smooth, the marble features betraying nothing but his absolute faith in the harsh words.

John exhales disappointedly, used to but not please at the black moods of his friend. "Well, you shall not make me think ill of Miss Hooper, Holmes," says he.

"I would not have you so," he replies dully, only half-listening to the conversation now.

Miss Adler has her last say, joining the conversation to say in a daring tone, "You see, Mr. Holmes - we are not afraid of you."

Sherlock turns away once more, rolling his eyes.

"Damn tedious waste of an evening," grumbles Mr. Wiggins.

 **I was hesitant with Irene Adler for this chapter - when I originally wrote it she came across as mildly...sleazy? Just too much, too desperate, I guess. But that is so not Irene Adler, so I tried to alter that just a bit.**


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